Death's Sword Book 1: Finding and Seeking

Chapter 15, part 2: Day 22 continued

From the small turret that was included in their suite of rooms, Burrowwold could look over the walls at the land beyond. All the bushes had been cleared for half a kilometre from the outer wall, and all the trees from as far again. As he watched, he could see shepherds and their flocks making their ways back to the various small gates, followed by groups of infantry. The sheep were used not only to feed and clothe the city, but also to keep the vegetation down. Very efficient, thought Burrowwold. That summed up Vartansberg; a very efficient, well-oiled machine. He hated it already. He wanted nothing more that to leave, heading east, not west.

He had had a long, furious yet quiet argument with Tania on the matter, both not wanting the boy to hear. They'd brought him this far, hadn't they? That was surely enough. This adventure had become something far too dangerous for a roguish gnome and a mere slip of a human girl. He knew his limits, hers to, and this was well beyond them. Yet Tania had been surprisingly vehement in her arguments, insisting that they accompany the boy still further. Burrowwold glared across at the two youngsters. Why had he let her wheedling and whining change his mind?

He cursed himself silently, he cursed his ancestors, he cursed the day he had accepted the girl in part-payment of a debt. Nothing but trouble, especially with her reaching an age when hormones were starting to kick in. Then he remembered some of the things Tania had said, some of the opportunities she had shown him. She did think ahead, that one. He'd not done such a bad job of teaching her after all. He sucked on his teeth then chewed on his beard. If they were careful, they could still come out of this with a profit

Kleymin was seated, cross-legged, on the floor, staring into nothingness. Namarth lay at his right-hand side, hilt close to his hand. His hands lay palms up in his lap not moving. He seemed lost in a world of his own, a world of pain where he could not be reached. Tania, tired of trying to shake him out of his strange mood, was lying nearby on a padded couch. She had a woollen blanket pulled around her and trailing onto the floor. She was playing with a piece of cheap jewellery she had acquired somewhere, her eyes unfocussed. Occasionally, her lips moved as though she was talking to herself but no she made no sound. The air was thick with tension and unresolved issues.

There was a rap at the door, which then began to swing into the room. Before it was halfway open, Kleymin was soundlessly behind it. The sword's hilt was gripped firmly in his right hand. His left held the scabbard, ready to draw the blade. Rolf stepped into the room and sketched a bow to Tania, who was looking at him with interest, a little like the way a cat looks at a mouse. "I have been asked to request that you make yourselves ready for travel one hour before nightsend tomorrow. Is there anything that you might require, saving provisions?" he asked, turning to close the door. He froze when he found Kleymin staring at him.

Rolf's eyes were pulled to the half-drawn sword, the muscles in the boy's arms quivering, locked in place. "Afraid I might be a concealing another demon, youngster?" asked Rolf, lightly, trying to reduce the tension he saw so plainly in the boy. "I wondered," said Kleymin, flatly, "but you don't look right for one of them, somehow. You look..you look.." His voice trailed away and he shook his head in despair at his inability to explain what he did not understand. He walked past Rolf and sat down exactly where he had been before, laying Namarth to one side as before.

Burrowwold jumped down from the chest he was standing on. "Er, uhm, yes," he said, tugging at his beard to cover his embarrassment at not knowing what to do about the boy. "I mean, there are a few things we need. Tania, make a list for the man," he ordered. The girl pulled a face but obediently unwrapped herself from the blanket and walked to the writing table that stood in one corner, hips swaying as she did so. A quill, ink and stack of vellum stood there. "Three dozen quarrels for my crossbow. Two dozen leaden slingshot for you, Tania. A steel kodachi for myself and second for you, my dear -"

"You already have a kodachi," pointed out Tania, interrupting the gnome as he started to warm to his task.

The gnome scowled at her. "There's no harm in my having another, girl," he grumbled. She shrugged and continued writing. Oax slipped quietly into the room, nodded at Burrowwold, then planted his feet a little way apart. He looked as immoveable as a rock. He stared at the boy, who ignored him.

Burrowwold recovered to continue. "Some form of missile weapon for Kleymin here. What do you prefer, boy?" he asked, raising his voice. Kleymin, without losing the faraway, trance-like expression that had come over his face again, responded by saying, "A Dai-kyu, with a pull of fifty weights and steel-shod armour-piercing arrows. Two humming bulb arrows would be useful and a few bowel-rakers."

Rolf recoiled in surprise at this. "Well, I'll see what I can do but.... If I can't get a Dai-kyu, will a northern longbow do instead - and are you sure you want a fifty weight pull?" he asked, eyeing the slight figure of the boy dubiously. The boy turned his gaze on the man who flinched at the vast empty cavern behind the dark eyes. "A longbow would do, if you can find no other. I am certain of the pull - I would not have asked if I had not been certain." His voice brooked no further argument. It sounded strangely hollow, as though all emotion had been gouged out of the boy. He also sounded much older than his apparent years.

For the first time, Rolf noticed the marks on Kleymin's palms. A puzzled expression passed fleetingly across the archer's face and he shuddered, although he had no idea why. "Yes, well, that sorts out the weapons. Oh, apart from three steel throwing knives," said Burrowwold hurriedly, to fill the silence, "That should be about it." Tania finished the list with a flourish, sanded it and handed the vellum to Rolf with a dazzling smile. The archer accepted it with a bow, "Thank you, my lady. I had better go and see if I can fulfil your requests." He turned to face the boy and gnome, as well as the girl, "Your dinner will be brought to you here, where the Graf will join you. For myself and my chatter-box friend here, we bid you goodnight." With another bow, Rolf left the room, ushering Oax out before him, glad to escape Kleymin's gaze.

"He called me 'my lady.' Did you hear that?" breathed Tania, clasping her hands to her chest, her eye-lashes fluttering. "Oh, heck," groaned the gnome, seeing the moon-struck look on the girl's face, "Well, anyone can make a mistake, you know. Perhaps it was surprise at seeing a scrap of a peasant girl who could write." Tania's expression changed in an instant, taking on a furious scowl. "There's no need to be like that, you unpleasant little-," she started.

Kleymin cut across her rising tones, his soft voice somehow drowning her out, "Burrowwold, why did you ask for all those extra weapons? You don't need them all." The gnome grinned broadly, with an evil glint in his dark little eyes, "Good Vartansberg steel, they'll be worth a fortune back in Hywhen. It was as good as asking for gold - only less obvious." He chuckled at this, delighted by his own cunning. Tania screwed up her face in disgust. "See, he never gets any better. Money, drink and gambling, that's all he ever thinks about," she sneered.

"And what's wrong with money, drink and gambling?" inquired the gnome, haughtily, drawing himself up to his full one hundred and eleven centimetres. "Besides which, you left out food. Harrumph. Kleymin, get the tiles. It's about time you tried to win some of your money back." The boy lifted his head to stare dead-eyed back at Burrowwold. After a brief pause, he said, "I do not wish to play Mai-long just now." Again, his voice was distant, drained of emotion. Burrowwold shrugged, "Well, I do and playing when you don't really wish to is good practise." His voice took on a wheedling note, "Come on, you don't want to be a sore loser. Get the tiles." Slowly, reluctantly, Kleymin rose to his feet and went to get the bag of tiles from their packs, moving like an old man. This has hit him hard, thought the gnome, he needs distracting or he'll get lost forever – and not distracted by that silly girl and her stupid games, neither!